


PvP

by Nori



Series: Finding Guardians [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gamer AU - Freeform, Gen, One Shot Collection, Shrunkyclunks, steve is sad but in the least angsty way possible, tags will be updated as i add to this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-09-06 15:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8758825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nori/pseuds/Nori
Summary: Little one shots from the Finding Guardians universe that don't fit in with the main story.





	1. really really ridiculously good looking

**Author's Note:**

> There are so many little snippets from this 'verse I have floating around in my head, I decided I should sit down and do something about it. I have no idea how often this will get updated, but I've got at least a couple ficlets in mind. I'm pretty sure this first one came from a comment I got on Matchmaking, but I can't remember which lovely person was responsible for the idea. If it was you, let me know and I'll give you credit. :)
> 
> This takes place, perhaps obviously, sometime between the Chitauri attack and the Insight Helicarrier debacle. 
> 
> As is the case with basically everything I post, this is hardly edited and kind of rushed. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

The plane shudders, loose articles rattling against the metal walls and sending their bodies swaying gently. Rumlow and his STRIKE team are chatting, loud over the plane’s ambient noise, regaling each other with stories from the mission they’ve just completed. They’re at the far end of the plane, to Natasha’s left. If she were to look to her right, she’d see Cap, leaning forward with hands clasped between his knees. Most likely his helmet would be off, his shield still slung across his back, and his face twisted tensely. 

There’s no real reason for it, as far as Natasha can tell. They pulled the mission off flawlessly--no collateral damage, perpetrators safely in custody, team healthy and in good spirits--but Rogers is still brooding, isolated from the team by own his doing. Some of it, Natasha thinks, is his lingering awkwardness in this century, but certainly not all of it. She wonders, absently, if he’s simply always been like this; serious, introverted, and grim. He has reason, she supposes, to be that way, but it’s a long plane ride. Natasha isn’t going to sit around and let a respected teammate wallow when she can do something about it. 

She rises to her feet, drawing Rumlow’s eye. Waving him off, she slinks up the belly of the plane and settles into an exaggerated lean against the curved interior wall next to Cap. 

“Come here often?” she asks coyly, fluttering her eyelashes at him. Rogers quirks an eyebrow, lips twitching into a smirk. 

“No more often than you, ma’am,” he demurs, lowering his eyes. His eyelashes curve long and dark over his cheeks. Ridiculous. Natasha rolls her eyes at him indulgently. 

It’s not, she knows, that Steve Rogers has no sense of humor. He’s actually quite funny, if you can coax it out of him. He’s got a sharp wit and a quick tongue, and he’s not afraid to use either of them. But even his humor tends to be serious, mature. It’s become an idle desire for her, to see him act his age. There’s a goofy, mid-twenties dude in there somewhere, and she’s going to find him, damn it all. 

“Don’t call me ma’am,” she admonishes him, swatting at his shoulder playfully. “I’m too young to be a ma’am.” She throws herself gracelessly into the seat beside him, bumping their shoulders together. He turns, both eyebrows lifted in cautious amusement. 

“I’m sorry. You’re a real swell dame,” he jokes, pushing his old fashioned drawling accent to its limits. 

Natasha laughs. “That’s more like it.”

Cap shakes his head, but there’s a smile warming his expression now. Good. If he keeps frowning so much, he’s going to get wrinkles. 

Natasha twists her body to get to the slim pocket along her thigh, which presses her more firmly against Cap’s side but also serves to make the cellphone she’d hidden away when they’d returned to the plane available. She plucks the slim rectangle up and flips through her apps absently, just until she knows she has Cap’s attention. 

“Barton requested I keep him up to date on the mission status,” she murmurs, opening her camera. “Help a girl out?”

Clint’s request was more along the lines of an old ritual between the two of them, where they send silly selfies to each other at the end of good missions. It’s a wordless way to express their emotional state post-mission and it’s served them well for years. Adding Cap into the mix is just Natasha’s way of telling Clint he’s missing out on all the fun.

“Of course,” Rogers tells her sincerely, expression flattening again. He’s expecting to take her picture. How cute.

“Smile,” Natasha instructs him, quickly leaning into his side and snapping the picture. She looks down at the screen, smirking. She looks fantastic, naturally. She’s spent hours of her life figuring out every nuance of her appearance, so her selfies had better be on point. Cap, however, looks completely dumbfounded in the picture, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. It’s not an attractive look. 

“So handsome,” she teases, angling the phone toward him. He peeks at the phone, snorting and rocking backwards.

“Yeah, I’m a real looker,” he agrees sarcastically. 

“I’ll give you a moment to collect yourself this time,” she tells him, holding the phone up at the ready. 

“You’re too kind,” he huffs, putting on his best mocking, newsreel smile. Natasha grins a big, shit eating grin and takes the picture. 

“Beautiful,” she announces. “Barton will love it.”

“Always glad to be of service,” Rogers snorts. 

Natasha takes her time sending the picture to Clint, pondering ways to keep Rogers, if not smiling, then at least not frowning. She sneaks a look out of the corner of her eye. His eyes are averted, very carefully not looking at what she’s doing on her phone. It’s kind of cute in that good ol’ boy, old fashioned charm sort of way. It’s also a decided downgrade from the sarcastic amusement he’d been wearing only moments ago. 

Luckily for her, Clint is an excellent partner and provides her with the perfect answer. 

From Clint:  
i’ll buy u dinner 4 a week if u get cap 2 duck face

To Clint:  
you’re on

“Cap,” she says gravely, “we need to take another picture.”

“Did we not look alive enough in the first one?” he asks flatly. 

“He’s doubting your grasp on modern society,” she replies, making her eyes as big and innocent as she can. Rogers levels a bland stare at her. 

“What does he want?” 

Natasha bites back a smirk. Oh, there’s nothing that gets to Rogers more than underestimating him. 

“Duck faces,” Natasha says seriously. The uncertainty pinches Cap’s eyebrows together. “You know,” Natasha insists, pressing her lips into the ridiculous round pout and batting her eyelashes. 

“Oh,” he breathes, before striking a perfect Blue Steel pose. Natasha laughs, caught by surprise, and shifts her phone so she can tap her fingers against her palm in a delicate golf clap. 

“Perfect,” she announces, leaning back into his side and holding the phone up again. They both attempt their best duck faces, peering at the screen together immediately. “It’s a masterpiece,” she whispers in her best snobby, cultured voice. 

Their eyes meet. Cap’s lips twitch, cheek pulled taut with the effort of holding back his laughter. Natasha snickers and it breaks the dam on their laughter. Rogers curls over himself, laughing so hard his stupidly wide shoulders jostle Natasha. She chuckles along with him, terribly pleased with herself. She sends the picture to Clint with one hand, so she can pat Cap’s shoulder agreeably. 

“Any other silly pictures Barton wants from us?” Cap asks when his laughter settles out. “In the interest of proving our mission went well.”

Natasha smiles at him, biting on her thumbnail contemplatively. She knows for a fact that Cap has adapted to modern technology like a duck to water, and yet he seldom carries his cell phone on him. She had thought that was a product of his time, more than anything, but maybe it’s something else. Despite his tenuous connection to the other Avengers, Rogers lives a terribly isolated, lonely life. Maybe he doesn’t carry his phone because he doesn’t think he has anyone to contact outside of his job. 

Well, that’s not going to fly with her anymore. 

“Rogers,” she says lowly, leaning close as if she’s about to share a secret, “Barton loves ridiculous selfies.” She lifts the phone up, offering to take another shot, and he leans in gamely. “And so do I,” she continues, “so feel free to send them my way.”

“Do you require post-mission duck faces, too?” he jokes quietly. 

“Absolutely,” she says. 

His smile, in the next picture she takes, is the warmest expression she’s ever seen him wear.


	2. sibling rivalry in C# minor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some baby!Bucky and Becca. I'm imagining them as ~13 and 8 in this; the perfect ages to drive each other up the wall. ;)
> 
> Winifred Barnes has had it up to here with her children.

Becca leans down toward the ivory keys, mouth open in abstract wonder, and Bucky slams his hands down with excessive force. 

“Becca!” he snaps, glaring at her. She jerks upright, surprise melting into irritation on her chubby little face. 

“I wasn’t doing anything,” she huffs, crossing her arms obstinately. 

“You’re distracting me,” Bucky whines, leaning back on his bench. He’s supposed to be learning the entire first movement of the Moonlight Sonata and his stupid little sister won’t leave him alone. 

“I was just watching!” Becca shrieks, in her shrill, girlish voice. 

“You keep getting in the way!” Bucky hollers right back at her, shoving her sideways. She screams through gritted teeth, retaliating with clenched fists pounding against Bucky’s shoulders. 

“Knock it off, Becca,” Bucky growls, catching hold of her wrists and squeezing. Their eyes meet and Bucky is filled with dread by the resolve taking over his sister’s face. She sucks in a huge breath of air, tips her head back, and wails at the top of her lungs. 

Their mother’s arrival is heralded by heavy footsteps and the subtle rattling of picture frames against the walls. Bucky winces in preparation. 

“James Barnes,” his mother bellows, stepping into the room and leveling a disapproving stare at his hands around Becca’s wrists. “You let go of your sister right now!”

His pulls his hands away like Becca’s suddenly caught fire. “But Mom,” he complains, sagging pathetically, “I’m trying to practice and she won’t leave me alone.”

“I’m just watching!” Becca exclaims, turning on her huge, sad, puppy eyes. 

“She’s distracting,” Bucky insists. “I’m gonna be in so much trouble if I don’t learn this stupid song before my next lesson.”

Winifred Barnes crosses her arms over her chest, staring down at her two rowdy children. She points a commanding finger, one at a time as she addresses them in turn. “Becca, let your brother practice. Bucky, focus on your piano and let your sister be.”

“Yes, Mom,” Bucky grumbles, turning back to his piano with an irritated grunt. 

“Thank you, Mommy,” Becca chirps, facing the piano once again and kicking her feet merrily. Once their mother has departed, she smiles smugly at Bucky. “I won.”

“You are such a brat,” Bucky groans dramatically. 

“Am not,” Becca replies snottily. 

“Yes, you are,” Bucky fires back, pushing her toward the end of the bench. 

“Bucky!” she yells, desperately scrabbling at his shirt sleeves as if she’s about to fall to her death. 

Their mother comes slamming back into the room, face twisted with frustration. “It’s like you both want to be grounded,” she says tightly, holding back her irritation. 

“Bucky’s being mean,” Becca cries, blubbering like a stupid baby. She’s too old for it now, but she gets away with it anyway because she’s the youngest. 

“No, I’m not,” Bucky says sharply, shoving at his sister’s shoulder. 

“See?” Becca howls, slipping off the bench and trotting over to their mother. 

“Bucky,” Winifred sighs, like this altercation is exhausting her. She drops a mollifying hand onto Becca’s head. “Can’t you just be nice to your sister?”

Bucky clamps his mouth shut, before he shouts at his mother. She really will ground him then. “Fine,” he growls through gritted teeth. “I’m sorry, Becca.” He reaches up to snap the fallboard down over the keys. “I’m done practicing anyway,” he huffs, slipping passed his annoying sibling and annoyed mother to storm to his room. 

He didn’t want to learn the stupid Moonlight Sonata anyway.


	3. a neon galaxy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short thing to keep me writing tbh
> 
> Takes place during the early chapters of Matchmaking.

“Steve,” Sam says urgently. “Steve!”

“I’m going!” Steve growls. “Move the damn shield.”

“If I move the damn shield, this giant space bug is going to blow us to pieces,” Sam snaps. 

“I can’t man both guns at once, Sam,” Steve retorts, voice tight with strain. 

“Fine,” Sam spits, “I’m gonna hit the rotate-y cannon and drive our dumb asses out of here.”

“Your driving is what got us into this in the first place,” Steve grumbles, skidding down a ladder and hustling to the right gun. 

“Well if someone here, not naming names, could shoot the damn gun,” Sam complains, swaying left and smacking into Steve’s shoulder, “we wouldn’t have gotten trapped down here in the first place.”

“Please,” Steve snorts disbelievingly, “you crashed us into the walls three times.”

“But we aren’t dead yet,” Sam points out triumphantly. 

“We might as well be,” Steve grunts, shooting at the massive space bee blasting rockets at them. “Why won’t this thing die?”

“I swear to God, Rogers,” Sam complains, giving up the pilot’s seat and hustling to a gun turret near the top of the ship. “Didn’t they teach you how to shoot in the damn war?”

“I know how to shoot a real gun,” Steve exclaims, mock offended.

With their powers combined, they barely manage to kill the space bee. Sam sags on the couch, collapsing against Steve’s side. Steve takes the initiative to climb into the center of the ship and steer it out into the wide open plains of space. 

“Oh hell no,” Sam groans, cheek smooshed awkwardly against Steve’s ribs. “I’m the pilot, not you.”

“Don’t worry, Sam,” Steve snorts. “There’s no icy oceans for me to crash into here.”

Sam is upright and staring at him in a flash. “Is that,” Sam stutters, incredulous. “Did you just? Are we _joking_ about this now?”

Steve shrugs. “I could probably cry if you’d rather.”

“Dear Lord,” Sam mutters, “I am not prepared for this. I need a beer.” He stands up pointing toward his kitchen. “You want a beer? You’re getting a beer. Great, be right back.”


	4. Rally the Troops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES I'M STILL HERE HI. I've been writing a whole lot! Just not for this verse rip. 
> 
> So uh, here's a little thing. I love nothing more than making references to things from the late 80's and early 90's. Shout out to my guy, [Laser](http://i.imgur.com/8aw4dhj.jpg).

“Steve!” Bucky shrieks, throwing himself into Steve’s arms before he’s even through the doorway. Steve blinks wide eyes, smiling cautiously. 

“Hi,” Steve laughs. “You’re energetic today.”

Bucky takes a second to evaluate that statement, nodding in agreement. He snags Steve’s wrist and tries to haul him deeper into the room. It’s a bit like trying to pull an elephant. 

“Steve,” Bucky whines, like an oversized toddler. “Hurry up, come on.”

“What?” Steve asks, laughing but in that confused and trying to shrug it off kind of way. “I saw you this morning, Buck.”

“Oh.” _Oh_. Okay, sometimes he does kind of want to jump Steve’s bones immediately upon arrival and this might very well look like that to big, beautiful, dumb blonds. “Right yeah, this is way more important than that. I have to show you something.”

Steve finally gives in to being tugged through the room, but his eyebrows are pulled together. His thinky face. “I’m confused.”

“What’s new?” Bucky retorts automatically. He probably deserves the little shove (that sends him careening into the wall like a contestant on the hit 90’s TV show _American Gladiators_ ) Steve gives him. “Tone it down, Laser, you’re gonna love this.”

Bucky pushes Steve onto the couch (or, more likely, Steve graciously takes Bucky’s unspoken suggestion and pops a squat) and turns to fire up his Xbox. 

“Wow, an Xbox,” Steve proclaims sarcastically. “I’ve never seen one of those before.”

Bucky pulls a face, making sure his chin is tucked in to create as many neck folds as he is physically capable of. Steve scrunches up his nose and crosses his eyes in response. With a laugh, Bucky throws himself onto the couch beside Steve, immediately snuggling up to his deliciously wide shoulders. 

“Close your eyes,” Bucky instructs him, keeping an eye on the solid green start up screen. He doesn’t want Steve to see the ad tile before the big reveal.

“Why?” Steve asks suspiciously. Bucky leans up and plants a smacking kiss on his cheek, batting his eyelashes innocently. 

“Please,” he begs, making sure to sound as obnoxious as possible. 

“Fine,” Steve sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes for good measure before shutting them. Bucky deftly navigates his home screen when it finally loads, selecting a tile on the right hand side of the screen. He drops his controller and turns sideways to stare at Steve.

“Okay, look,” he says, then clamps a hand over his mouth. The video isn’t even a full two minutes long, but Bucky drinks in the expressions unfolding on Steve’s face. The almost instant recognition, the surprise, the excitement, and the joy. Steve’s low rumbling laugh makes Bucky want to squeal, and he scrunches his toes up to hold it back. When the video ends, Steve turns to look at him, eyes wide. 

“Bucky,” Steve exclaims, grabbing his shoulders. “Bucky, Destiny 2!”

“I know!” Bucky yelps back, bouncing on his couch cushion like an excitable child. Steve tackles him (gently - he probably feels bad about the wall incident before) down onto the sofa, arms wrapped around his waist. Bucky loops his arms around Steve’s dumb, blond head, grinning like a damn fool at the ceiling. 

“They’re gonna destroy the City,” Steve says, muffled against Bucky’s chest. His voice vibrates against Bucky’s skin, and he squirms against the tickle. 

“I’m so excited,” Bucky laughs. “I don’t even care if it’s good. It could be the exact same game with a new title and I’d still be this excited.”

Steve chuckles, pushing up just enough to kiss Bucky’s sternum before flopping back down. It doesn’t feel great, because Steve weighs a fucking ton and Bucky is a weak ass gamer nerd, but he loves it anyway. He scrunches his fingers against Steve’s scalp appreciatively. 

“Cayde’s an idiot,” Steve mumbles after a few minutes of silent cuddling. 

“I love him,” Bucky announces, smiling at the antics of everyone’s favorite NPC in the trailer. He taps his fingers against the back of Steve’s neck. “You love him too.”

“He’s a robot,” Steve mutters mulishly. 

“It’s 2017, Steve,” Bucky admonishes with barely contained laughter. “We can love a robot if we want to.”

“Golly, the times sure have changed,” Steve quips in his best newsie voice. Unsurprisingly, he does it really fucking well. 

“Hey, you know the best thing about it?” Bucky asks, dragging his fingers through Steve’s hair until Steve lifts his head to look at him. 

“What’s that?” Steve asks, clearly already amused by whatever enlightening bullshit Bucky’s ready to spew. Ah, if only he was aware that game hype makes Bucky a huge ridiculous sap. 

“This time,” Bucky says softly, “we get to play the whole thing together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DESTINY 2!! I'M SO EXCITED MY FRIENDS. 
> 
> [Here's the trailer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZJLAJVmggt0), if any of you want to see for yourself what the heck I'm talking about. Cayde is the stupid blue robot. (I love him).


End file.
